


When Life Imitates Porn

by orphan_account



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pants wetting, Situational Humiliation, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case of mistaken identity, Martin Crieff finds himself kidnapped, hog-tied and thrown in the back of van.  Enter Arthur Shappey, a well-meaning accomplice with an inappropriate fetish for short gingers.</p>
<p>A Cabin Pressure AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life Imitates Porn

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings!
> 
> Side note: This is by no means a dark story, despite the content warnings. The humiliation is situational-- see 'pants wetting' warning-- and I like my dub-con with a healthy dose of humour and fluff. Which makes no sense, but alas.

 

 

Martin was terrified.

 

A rather mild way of putting it, all things considered, but apt nonetheless.  In the span of two hours, he'd managed to get himself kidnapped, tied up, and tossed in what felt like the hold of a cargo van.  The cargo van bit was probably the only thing of which he could be certain.  Too many years spent as a man with a (cargo) van for it to be anything but.  The rest was mere speculation as he'd been fitted with a blindfold almost immediately.

 

His assailants were three men by the sounds of them, who'd somehow managed to both kidnap the wrong man and remain steadfastly ignorant about that fact: Two anger management cases and one complete idiot.

 

They were looking for Captain Skipper Andrews, from what he'd overheard: a short ginger from _Air England_ \--an easy mistake to make had Martin not been a bloody steward wearing a bloody steward's uniform with the name _United Airlines_ right on the lapel.  He was shocked (and secretly a teensy tiny bit flattered) that anyone could mistake him for a Captain of a major airline.  (That had been the complete idiot one's fault.)  He supposed the whole "short, ginger, and aeroplane" had something to do with it but he'd  take his compliments were he could get them-- even if that was in the hold of a cargo van, held securely on the idiot's lap to keep from bouncing around the back while the two anger management cases took seat in the front.

 

It was a rather off day, if he was perfectly frank.  Absolutely horrendous in the grand scheme of things.  And to make matters worse, he really, _really_ had to pee.  It was all he could think about--well, that and the kidnapping, of course.  But his bladder took precedence as it was currently the one battle in which he was about to lose.  He was mad for having consumed all those coffees on a fifteen hour flight from Connecticut to Fitton.  Utterly mad!

 

He pressed his thighs together and tried not to squirm, unwilling to draw any untoward attention to himself.  His luck remained poor as his idiot captor took note immediately.  He felt the man's arms tighten around his waist and a moment later, warm breath gusted against his ear, making him shiver.

 

"It's okay, Skip.  Mind if I call you Skip?  I know you're probably scared-- heck, I'd be if I were you-- but try to relax.  As soon as we've got this mess all sorted, we'll have you back in your bed, nice and safe."

 

This captor seemed like the preferable choice, Martin had to admit; much more so than the other two, who'd bullied and manhandled him so much earlier that he'd started to cry.  It was the man's gentle tone that gave him the courage to stammer,

 

"I, um, n-need the loo.  If we c-could stop for a moment?"

 

"Oh!  Right!  Right.  One moment."  His captor rumbled, and a moment later, he felt him shift forward and bang on what must have been the partition separating the front from the back. 

 

There was the sound of metal sliding-- definitely the partition then-- and a deeper voice answered, “The fuck is it now, Arthur?" 

 

The new man sounded annoyed.  Annoyed was not good.  Annoyed didn't transfer into getting relief for his aching bladder.

 

"Yeah, sorry to bother you, but Skip needs a bit of a potty break.  Doesn't seem like he can hold it.  Bit fidgety-- not that I mind."

 

Oh, the sweet, sweet idiot.  Yes, more of the polite talk.  He so desperately had to go!  Wait, why didn't he mind?

 

"He can piss his posh little pants for all I care.  Tell him to hold it!"  And with that the partition banged shut.

 

FUCK!  He was ready to do exactly that if they didn't pull over right this instance.

 

His captor-- Arthur, was it?-- murmured an apology in his ear and moved him gently off of his lap as he got up to bang on the partition with more insistence.  Again, it slammed open.

 

"I swear to god, Shappey--"

 

"Sorry again but I don't think he'll make it.  Just pull over to the side.  Won't be but a mo'."

 

Bless this man's stubborn soul.  Kidnapper or no, Arthur was his hero.  Surely, they'd grant such a polite request from their own accomplice.

 

"So the tosser can make a break for it?  Not on my life!  He'll hold it til we get there or he can sit in it!"

 

NO, blast it!

 

"Yes, well, while that's easy for you to say, I don't think _he'll_ be too comfortable.  It really won't be any extra effort for us to make his, um, kidnapping a bit more relaxing, will it?"

 

At this rate, Martin lost track of the conversation as the van hit a bump and jostled his aching bladder.  His thighs shook and he had just enough time to whimper in warning before he felt himself lose the battle. With a violent cramp, his muscles loosened and hot liquid dampened his pants.  It started as a trickle but once his bladder had a taste of lessening pressure, the trickle turned into a stream.  It seeped through his pants and into his trousers, wetting the front of his legs and flowing down into what was probably a puddle on the floor.  His eyes burned as his muscles loosened in relief.

 

 He couldn't help it: he started sniveling.  He was already scared out of his mind, and now he had humiliation to add to the horrendous mix.

 

Not a second later, he felt arms wrap securely around him, and Arthur's voice wash over him, low but tight with anger. "I am so very sorry, Skip.  It's not your fault.  Just let it all out and I'll get you nice and cleaned up when you're done."

 

His knees knocked together as his bladder finished the last of its business, leaving him a soiled, soppy mess.  The material of his uniform trousers and pants clung to him, squelching as he tried to shift away from Arthur's firm hold.  The man held on tighter, all the while murmuring words of comfort. 

 

He clenched his eyes shut behind the blindfold.  This Arthur character was being too nice; he didn't deserve kindness--not when he'd gone and soiled himself like some errant child.  He deserved to rot in a ditch somewhere, cast aside for some poor sod to find whilst jogging.  Wasn't that how these things usually went?  The thought only made him blubber harder.

 

"Oh, you're being so brave, Skip."  Arthur crooned, and something brushed against Martin's cheek.  It felt like-- stubble?  Was that his cheek?  Was he being... nuzzled?  "All finished now?"

 

He choked down a whimper and nodded frantically, ears burning.  How he longed for a ditch right now.  And a jogger.  Well, maybe not the jogger.  Not while he reeked of urine.

 

 Oh god, he'd really, actually-factually gone and pissed himself.  Like a child!  He'd never live with the humiliation of that thought.   His kingdom for a gun!

 

"Skip?  Skip." 

 

Martin tuned back in on Arthur's voice, unaware that he'd drifted off into his soul-sucking thoughts.  He made a vaguely miserable-sounding humming noise to show he was listening and Arthur continued,

 

"I was just saying that I'm going to talk to the gents in front and tell them that we need to stop for tonight. You're looking rather knackered, and to be honest, I could use a little shut eye.  And I've really got to get you out of those clothes; don't want you getting a rash on that cute little bum of yours."

 

Martin stilled.  Cute bum?  Arthur thought he had a... cute bum?  He must have made some sort of noise because Arthur stammered out, "What I meant was, um, well, that is...  I don't want you getting itchy!  Rashes are never fun.  Got one myself back in grade school from leaving my wet swimsuit on all day.  Mum was livid.  Anyway, it was really uncomfortable and I thought, since you were already going to be uncomfortable, why make it worse..." He trailed off awkwardly.

 

Martin sniffed.  "That's... thoughtful?  Of you.  Um, Th-thank you."

 

"Right!  No problem.  I'll just go and do that now, shall I?"

 

"...Okay."

 

"Right-o."

 

"Right."

 

"It's just...  The thing is, Skip,” Arthur drawled, sounding reluctant. "I don't want you feeling all alone back here if I'm gone for too long.  I might need to take a few minutes to convince them.  They're rather stubborn that way, you see."

 

Arthur was concerned for him?  He didn't know why that thought warmed him as much as it did.  Stockholm syndrome at an accelerated rate, he imagined.  Or that nobody had ever shown such concern for his wellbeing before. The fact that the most kindness he'd ever received had been from one of his kidnappers was a bit depressing, really.

 

"I'll be okay."  He mumbled, ducking his head and wincing when the stench of urine hit him.  Except he wouldn't be fine, would he?  Not while he was hogtied in the back of a creepy rape van, smelling like a truck stop.

 

"You're so brave, love!"  Arthur said, and Martin's cheeks flamed at the endearment.  "I'll try to be quick about it."

 

He felt something wet press against his cheek and had just enough time to process it as a kiss-- Arthur had kissed him!-- before the man was up and bellowing for the van to stop.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

Martin had worked himself into a nervous frenzy by the time the van doors opened fifteen minutes later.  Footsteps banged into the back and he flinched, anticipating rough hands pulling him to his feet.  What he didn't expect was an arm supporting his back, another under his knees, and then being scooped up like some virginal bride on her wedding day.  His world tilted and suddenly, he was squished against a familiar wall of a chest, face pressed against soft cotton.  He was self-conscious of his soiled trousers but Arthur didn't seem to mind them; clinging tighter to him as Martin struggled to get away.

 

Of all the indignities to suffer!  Although the man did smell rather good... No!  Can that thought!  It was an indignity of the highest order, regardless of deliciousness of smell!

 

"P-put me down right now!"  He yelled, flailing his arms blindly around and managing to hit a grand total of nothing at all.  "Being kidnapped is bad enough.  I won't have you treating me like an invalid!"

 

"I can't help it, Skip," Arthur whined, and Martin flinched as he nuzzled him again.  "I just see you there, looking all small and helpless and-and gingery, and I feel so hot right here."  Arthur grabbed Martin's hand and placed it against his chest, forcing him to feel his heartbeat.  It thumped, loud and hectic; practically racing under the palm of Martin's hand. 

 

He didn't know why but in that instant, he felt strangely... powerful.  Like he had the whole world right here.  A sense of calmness washed over him and he stopped struggling.  Perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

 

"You want to protect me?"  He ventured demurely, going so far as to rub his cheek coquettishly against the man's chest as he'd seen some bird do in a telly rom-com.  Arthur froze under him at that, hands stilling in his hair from where they'd started petting.

 

Was this play-acting a good idea?  Had he done it wrong?  He'd just about managed to work himself up into a full-scale panic attack when Arthur exploded underneath him.  And that was the best way to describe it: stillness followed by a massive flurry of chaotic movement.  Suddenly he was being crushed against Arthur's chest as the man vibrated with manic energy under him.

 

"Oh, Skip,” Arthur groaned between kisses pressed against his hair.  "I'd never let anyone hurt you!"  And suddenly the blindfold was sliding off of his face and tumbling to the ground as Martin stared up in surprise at well over six feet of exuberant man.

 

Jesus Christ, was that all it took?  How shockingly simple.

 

Martin bit his lip and fluttered his eyelashes, feeling slightly guilty as Arthur's cheeks flushed with delight and lips parted with awe.  To be fair, Arthur was really quite handsome if Martin were into blokes.  And Arthur not his kidnapper.  How did he keep forgetting that fact?  Maybe because the man had the most expressive, brown puppy-dog eyes...

 

No.  Christ!  He needed to pull himself together.  This was his _kidnapper_ , not a bloody potential love-mate... regardless of how kind he'd been or how comfortingly solid he felt under Martin's hands.

 

"D-do you think you could let me walk-- just for a minute-- to stretch my legs?  They're rather crampy."  Martin begged in his most pathetic-sounding voice, which he admitted didn't take much effort as he was still feeling the stirrings of hysteria from earlier. 

 

Arthur's eyes widened and he was already nodding emphatically, as he lowered Martin's legs gently to the ground.  "I can walk you round for a mo' and then we can head in and get you cleaned up."  He gestured vaguely toward the dark silhouette of what looked like a motel.

 

Martin felt the stirrings of hope ignite in his chest for the first time that day.  Surely, this was his chance!  He just needed a moment of distraction and he could run in to the front desk and have them phone the police.  Oh, please work!  Please!

 

He legs were shaking with nerves as he took a tentative step toward the direction of the motel.  He needed this to be perfect or it could all end in disaster.  He took another few steps and then faked tripping over a rock, falling to his knees.  When Arthur got within striking distance, he took a deep breath, mentally apologizing to the man for what he was about to do, and punched him hard.

 

In the nads.

 

Or that had been his intention.  Somehow he misread the distance and planted a square one directly on the man's upper thigh, making his fist smart.  Martin looked up and met Arthur's shocked expression with a guilty one of his own.  They stared at each other for a second before Martin rolled to the side and lurched to his feet, miraculously avoiding Arthur's grabby hands.  He booked it toward the motel, squelching along in his disgustingly pissy trousers.  He nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to get away.  He heard the sounds of pursuit behind him but didn't risk turning around to see how close Arthur was; he couldn't spare a single second of distraction; not with safety so tantalizingly in reach.

 

He pumped his arms and legs harder, gasping for air as he cursed himself for his genetics.  Damn his short legs!  Damn these shin splints!  Damn his general lack of proper healthy eating and exercise habits!  He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he wheezed for air, wincing at the burn of his muscles.

 

Christ, he would be sore in the morning.  If he made it til then.

 

That thought spurred him forward, inching closer and closer until something--somebody-- tackled him to the ground from behind.

 

Fucking Arthur.   Fucking Arthur and his bloody long legs!

 

He struggled for air underneath Arthur's bulk, desperately trying to scramble away.  He got a mouthful of dirt and his wrists pinned on either side of his head for his efforts. 

 

"Stop struggling!"  Arthur pleaded, as each of Martin's attempts rubbed his arse directly against Arthur's groin.  He really wasn't doing it on purpose but he couldn't just give up the fight, not with freedom so close.  He kicked his legs again and suppressed a shiver as he felt Arthur thicken underneath him.

 

" _Skip_ ,” Arthur panted against his ear, sounding dangerously close to begging.  Martin kicked harder, wiggling his hips to scoot away.  Arthur whimpered and thrust once against him, before stopping himself abruptly.  "Jesus, Skip.  Unless you want me to come all over your delicious little bum, you'd better stop wriggling about like that."

 

Martin stilled instantly, face going hot as his blood heated dangerously in his veins.  He heard Arthur gasp in relief and shoot to his feet, pulling him up along with him and securely against his chest.   And incidentally, against his erection. 

"Oh, my little Skipper,” Arthur breathed, voice thick with frustration and arousal.  He started pressing kisses against Martin's hair.   "You stubborn, gorgeous man.  Do you feel what you do to me?  You're still wet from earlier, and I don't even care."

 

Martin tried to swallow and found his mouth had gone inexplicably dry. To make matters worse, everything was spinning. 

 

What the hell was he going to do now?

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I read too many trashy romance novels. :)
> 
> More to come.


End file.
